


A Little Unorthodox, I'll Admit.

by VelociraptorMarie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Shrek (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelociraptorMarie/pseuds/VelociraptorMarie
Summary: A San/San AU fairy tale inspired by the 2001 animated film, Shrek.





	1. Once Upon A Time.

Once upon a time in Westeros, there lived a young maiden named Sansa Stark. Beloved by all whom beheld her, she was as beautiful as her blood was noble. 

But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort, which could only be broken by love's first kiss. 

As a means of keeping her affliction a secret, she was locked away in the ruined, desolate castle of Harrenhal until she would come of age to marry the Prince and become Queen of Westeros. 

Initially, Sansa had free reign of the castle and caretakers as any proper Lady should, including a Septa for her lessons in propriety, history and the arts of needlework and song; A cook and a maester. Shortly following her sixteenth Name Day, the castle was overtaken by a terrible, fire breathing dragon, burning all who lived there to a crisp. 

Lady Sansa was fortunate enough to retreat to the highest room of the tallest tower. It was there that she waited for her true love, and true love's first kiss.


	2. The Hand's Tourney.

The Hound was in a mood today, and not a pleasant one.

He'd woken up hungover and on the wrong side of the bed, just in time to armor up for the damned tournament held for Eddard Stark, King Robert's newly appointed Hand. Lord Eddard, a man commended for his honorable moral code, was the Warden of the Northern territories of Westeros, his family's line one of the oldest in the land. He very recently migrated his guard and himself here to King's Landing where he may serve his oldest friend in matters of the kingdom, and unite their noble Northern and Southern families through marriage. Eddard had also brought with him his youngest daughter, though The Hound had no idea why, and did not concern himself with such matters irrelevant to his position as Prince Joffrey's guard. 

One godforsaken obligation of his, though, was to part take in the ridiculous extravagance of events such as this fucking tournament. Truth be told, The Hound hated jousting. It was all too organized, formal and anticlimactic for him. He'd much rather fight all these pathetic excuses for knights on foot, and in actual combat. 

It was when his brother Gregor jousted against Ser Loras Tyrell that The Hound more willingly got involved in this whole affair. Due to his size, strength and renowned ruthlessness, Gregor was the practical choice to bet on against the much smaller, lean, conventionally handsome Ser Loras. The Knight Of Flowers, they called him, supposedly a nod to his family's rose sigil. Though it was rumored to be telling of his sexuality as well, Loras being more feminine mannered and infamously enjoying the company of other men. Still, the ladies of the court adored him, and collectively gasped in concern at the prospect of him facing Ser Gregor, the Mountain. The joust took an unexpected turn, though, as Loras's mare was obviously in heat and distracting Gregor's male horse, ultimately causing him to lose the joust. In a fit of rage, Gregor responded by beheading his own horse in front of the entire court, then proceeded to stalk towards Ser Loras, initiating a battle that the smaller knight was bound to lose in a gory way. 

Before he could process his motivation for doing so, The Hound found himself standing between them, defending Ser Loras from his brother by engaging in the combat he was truly itching for that day. He was managing to hold his own against Gregor, swords clashing so hard that the sound drowned out the screams from the crowd, until King Robert's booming voice commanded they cease.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King!" Robert commanded.

At this, the Hound immediately took a knee and drew his sword into the ground out of respect. Gregor did not follow suit, instead storming off in an angry fit. Ser Loras was then at the Hound's side.

"I owe you my life, Ser." the little flower knight gushed appreciatively. 

The Hound frowned, "I'm no Ser", flinching away as Loras grabbed his large hand, raising it high above their heads with his own in triumph. The Hound frowned all the more at the clapping and cheers of their audience. Instinctively, he bowed his head to the right to conceal the burnt half of his face from all the spectating eyes.

"People of the court, I give you our Champion!" King Robert proclaimed. 

The Hound made to slip back to his place beside the Prince unnoticed, assuming that the champion was Ser Loras, who won the joust. To his dismay, it was not. Ser Loras had already swiftly left his side and The Hound stood alone before the court.

"Sandor Clegane," The King began, stopping The Hound in his tracks. "You have won the honor of a great and noble quest." 

"With all due respect, my King, the greatest honor is with protecting Prince Joffrey." he lied as an objection. 

"Oh, I think Ser Meryn and his band of ninnies can manage to protect my son in your absence." Robert bellowed drunkenly, already halfway through his decanter of wine. 

Prince Joffrey stood then. "There is no greater honor than that which my Father commands, dog. My intended sits waiting in the rubble of Harrenhal, guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. I would make the venture myself, if only my Mother would allow it." 

Sandor guffawed, "You really expect me to believe there's a dragon living in Westeros?!" He struggled to contain his laughter.

"You must." Lord Eddard stated in all seriousness. "A very large one has taken up residence of the castle as of a fortnight ago, keeping my daughter trapped within. She sent her only raven, who managed to make it out of the Keep alive and with her message. I fear I've grown too old to manage such a quest, and my sons are not yet skilled enough to take it on either." he explained, clearly distressed.

Had it been his place, Sandor would have asked why the fuck Lord Stark had his eldest daughter living in a shit hole like Harrenhal to begin with. As it was not, he merely bowed to the King once more.

"I will do as I'm bid." he said, then rose to his feet once more.

"Clegane," Lord Eddard stopped him in his tracks. "Best you rescue her in the day light." he added.

Whatever the fuck that means, he thought. Alas, he nodded to the Hand of The King and made his leave to the armory, so that he might prepare for this fool's errand.


	3. A Great And Noble Quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven blessings to everyone who is following my work! I have been out of the writing loop for a few years now, and just getting started again with this inspiring ship! Your comments, kudos and patience are much appreciated as I get back into the wonderful world of fanfiction. :)

He wasn't wasting any time, as he readied his horse immediately after the tourney to make for Harrenhal, grumbling to himself all the while. This was not his plan for today. At most, he would have attended the feast, drank himself into a stupor and headed for the brothel only to change his mind and pass out alone in his sleeping quarters, too annoyed with the world to withstand the presence of a whore lying to him.

 _That's the honor you deserve, you stupid mutt_ , he told himself. Of all the foolhardy things, why had he bothered with defending that little pillow-biting knight? He knew the answer to that. Any opportunity to tussle with his older brother was worth seizing, though even killing the motherfucker would hardly be a fair exchange for the work Gregor had made of his face all those years ago...

_It was better than any of his toy horses or wooden swords. He'd found it while playing in the kennels that morning. A small boy, he often took to diving into hay stacks and riding the large hounds like miniature horses made just for him. Amidst a pile of hay, he'd found a figurine of a man donning armor and a helm, wielding a sword and shield. It was painted allover in white, and fit perfectly in his hand, which was larger than that of other boys his age, but still small. He imagined some adventure taking place, running the toy knight across the mantle in the dim firelight of their Keep that night..._

The Hound's thoughts were interrupted by a very demanding little voice.

"Ser Hound," she started. It was Lord Stark's youngest daughter, dressed like a boy and with the tiniest sword he'd ever seen in hand. She held the reins of her own white pony, who didn't dare come any closer to his intimidating courser.

"I'm no fucking Ser!" he roared, immediately pissed. _How many times did he have to say it?!_

"I don't care what you are," she bit back, "But I'm going with you."

He snorted, "The Hells you are. I travel alone." The last thing to pack, he shoved his flagon of wine in with his rations.

The Stark girl wasn't moved any, "As a Lady of House Stark, I command it."

"You don't command me, baby wolf. Now, why don't you go back to your needlework and let me be, before you get in trouble with your Septa for forgetting your courtesies?"

At this, her doe eyes, much too large for her face, were furious. Her voice shrilled, "Fuck courtesies!" She then pointed her pathetic little sword at him, poking him in his armored chest. "And this is the only needlework that concerns me, dog!"

As a reflex to her harmless threat, he grabbed the scruff of her collar and lifted her off her feet, pulling her face close to his burned side to scare her. "You really want to travel with _this?!_ "

She didn't waver one bit. "My sister sure as Hell won't want to."

He lowered her to the ground. She had a point, after all. What Lady in her right mind would follow him anywhere, aside from this little pain in the ass?

"Face it, you need my help. And I want to get out of this stinking city." she said. "And besides, if you don't, I'll tell my Father all about how you roughed me up just now."

The Hound sighed and rolled his eyes, unwilling to continue arguing as daylight burned away. He placed his hound helm over his head, resigned to giving the girl her way.

"Keep up, wolf bitch. I won't wait about." he growled, mounting his horse and departing the stable without a single pause.

The girl shuffled to quickly apply a random helmet, mount her pony and follow suit, cursing under her breath to urge the animal along and catch up with him.

"Name's Arya, by the way." she announced as she reached his side with surprising haste.

His brows furrowed. _Don't care_ , he thought.

"Sandor." He mumbled involuntarily, before telling her to keep her mouth shut as they exited the gates unnoticed by the guards.


	4. Layers.

They were making decent time, despite his initial reluctance to even take on this stupid quest. Following the Kingsroad, they'd already traveled through the crownlands and into the riverlands, passing all manner of farms and vast wheat fields before their surroundings started looking significantly greener.

And the entire way, the Stark girl had not. Stopped. Talking; About anything and everything from her self-taught archery skills, to her puny toothpick of a sword, to her intolerance of uncomfortable wool dresses, to her fondness of her bastard brother, to her water dancing instruction, to her disdain for needlework and curtsying and basically all activities high-born ladies are obligated or subjected to. For all the information he absorbed, a threefold amount went in one ear and out the other as Sandor's eyes glazed over and mentally checked him into some other realm where this annoying little girl wasn't yapping his mind into insanity. 

"Sssh!" he'd said at one point, and "Shut your hole!" he'd said at another. It had proven ineffective. He was daydreaming about roasted chicken when she asked if his sword had a name.

"Mine's Needle." she declared.

The Hound scoffed, "'Course you named your sword."

"Lots of people name their swords." she defended.

"Lots of cunts." he said.

"Alright, how about your horse, there? I assume he too is nameless?" 

"Stranger. Best you keep your distance from him. Doesn't play well with ponies. Or baby wolves." 

"I'm not a baby!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with angst. 

Sandor chuckled at this, "Sorry, I meant to say "Lady Wolf." 

"I'm _not_ a Lady!!" she swatted his arm, then winced as her hand made contact with the steel armor. 

He laughed even more. "No, I s'pose not." 

They happened upon a humble inn just outside Brindlewood, as The Hound's stomach began to growl. After getting Stranger and the pony whose name he didn't care to recall settled in the stable and purchasing a room for the night, the unlikely duo sat down for supper in the main hall. It was the most cheerful he'd felt all day, with a bowl of rabbit stew and an assortment of vegetables to add to the broth as he liked. The innkeeper offered shit for ale, but their Dornish Red would do the job just fine. He washed his first savory bite down with it and reached for the whole onion sitting among the potatoes, carrots and cabbage in the middle of the table. 

He had almost forgotten the little Stark bitch was even sitting there across from him, until she stabbed a dagger into the table between his hand and the onion, then grabbed the onion for herself to start peeling. He sat there, gaping and glaring at her at the same time. 

"Where'd you get the knife?" he asked.

"From you." she said nonchalantly, continuing on with her meal like nothing happened. 

_Little shit_. He yanked the knife out of the table and wiped the blade with his kerchief. 

"Do you know what happens to little girls who steal?"he asked, proceeding to eat like it was going out of style.

She shrugged. "You could just give it to me, and consider it my half of the reward." She picked up the onion and started peeling it again, tossing more pieces into her stew.

_Courteous as ever, this one._

" _Your_ half? " He wasn't even certain he was getting any sort of reward aside from so-called honor. "You're lucky I'm feeding you and not selling you to some pleasure merchant for a sack of pretty gold dragons. Any reward I reap is my own." he grumbled.

Arya seemed unfazed and changed the subject, tilting her head curiously. "What happened to your face?"

The Hound was tipping his bowl to where we was drinking the broth straight from it, thick brows and dark eyes glaring pointedly at her over the top of the bowl. He slammed it bowl down. Now that it was empty and his belly was full, he could devote all his attention to the wine and try to drown out all her annoying, unrelenting chatter.

"Got burned, girl. The fuck does it look like?!" 

"But how did it happen? I've heard different stories. One version where your bedding caught fire. Another version I heard, was that your-"

"You know what's a grand idea? Playing the quiet game."

"your older brother,"

"Ready, start!" he interrupted, making all the wine in his wooden goblet disappear in two swallows. He refilled it.

"Didn't know knights drank so much." she said, failing to play the game as he expected she would.

"Never sworn a vow." he corrected.

"Can I try it?"

He shoved it in her direction, certain she wouldn't drink much after she tried it.

The baby wolf picked up the goblet without any hesitation and guzzled it like water until the taste occurred to her and she coughed most of it up. Sandor snorted. 

"Why join me on this quest, girl?" he asked. He was genuinely at a loss for why.

"King's Landing stinks like shit." she said. 

Sandor snorted again, spitting out a bit of his drink. They were in agreement there.

"And I'm going to talk my sister out of marrying that cunt, Joffrey." she declared.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? You think she'll listen to you? I doubt if she'll even have a choice in the matter." He knew well enough that this arrangement had been made at her birth. Though again, they agreed on something. Joffrey was, indeed, a cunt. 

"Don't know. But I have to try. He is a liar and a coward and not good enough for her." she said, finally shutting up long enough to eat her food.

Sandor chuckled briefly before continuing to drink. He pondered on the concept of this girl going to such lengths to protect her sibling from a future with the mewling Joffrey. He struggled to fathom it, and it all made him feel not so unlike the onion Arya had peeled; tough on the outside, though as each layer peeled away, the sadder it got. 

_I'm going mad on this venture_ , he thought. 

The room had one single bed, which Sandor left to the little Lady, as was proper, and he opted to sleep on the floor. Her many attempts to keep yapping on about anything and everything that crossed her mind were interrupted by his telling her to shut it, "Sssh"-ing, and eventually, his thunderous snoring.


	5. The Highest Room Of The Tallest Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! I hope you all enjoy it. :) Also, I have edited the first chapter to age Sansa up to sixteen years old instead of thirteen, for reasons. :P

Harrenhal was a special kind of shit hole. Joffrey's use of the word "rubble" had been the understatement of the century. While some towers remained and all but touched the clouds, others had been maimed into scattered stone all about the keep, its burn stains reminiscent of the lingering ghosts old and new, hence the undeniably haunting presence of these ruins. He wondered how much of this had been this dragon's doing as opposed to the Targaryen dragons back in the day. And again, why the fuck Winterfell's Princess-to-be was being kept in such a gloomy place. 

And yet, there wasn't any sign of a dragon anywhere. Mayhaps the beast had migrated on and this entire headache of an excursion had been for not? He wasn't going to wait around to find out, that was for damned sure. 

Arya had been talking, and talking, and talking, alternating with a whistling that was even more infuriating, the entire half day's ride. 

"If you don't shut that hole in your face, I'll cut your fucking tongue out and feed it to the dragon." he growled, securing his hound helm over his head. "Believe that." 

"If you meant that, you would have done it already." she retorted. "Real hard man you are, threatening little girls." 

The Hound scoffed, "This man will be the reason you Stark bitches make it home in one piece." He scanned the foggy skyline for any signs of life. 

The little wolf bitch was dead set on distracting him from the task at hand. "Aren't you the least bit scared of this dragon breathing on you and roasting the other half of your face?"

"Wolf runt, I'm warning you,"

"Like you were a nice, moist mutton chop-"

"Do you see a dragon anywhere? Because I sure as fuck don't."

A single candle caught Sandor's eye, illuminating the highest window of the tallest tower. 

"She's there." he stated, pointing a heavy arm toward the beacon of light. "See if you can find any stairs, and be quiet about it." 

"What if we could reason with it? The dragon, I mean!" Arya's voice echoed and bounced off the walls as she wandered into another wing of the Keep. Sandor continued scoping out the main Keep for any stairwells. "Maester Luwin taught us that dragons are even smarter than Men. I wonder if it would-"

"What did I say about talking?! Want the bloody thing to find us first?!"

"I....I think it already has." 

"The fuck do y-"

"DRAGON!!!!" Arya Stark came sprinting in full around the corner, followed by an overwhelming light growing from the dark passageway from whence she came. Along with it, a stifling heat filling the open keep like a closed chamber. 

Fire. _Oh, fuck no!_

Sandor chased after Arya through and out of the Keep, into a courtyard that hardly structurally existed at this point. After a few seconds, the dragon hurled its body through what remained of the wall and revealed itself; Almost as tall as the Princess's lit window, with predominantly ebony scaling and underlying red that was much more vibrant on the inner wings, its teeth and talons made The Hound's great sword look pathetic in comparison. Its amber gold eyes were a terrifying glow. 

Arya retreated into a ditch of sorts that was covered by a fallen slate of stone, and as the dragon sniffed around for her, The Hound wasted no time in attempting something that was probably a bad idea. He circled quickly to the dragon's rear, and he intended to stab the tail with his sword, but just as he stood on the end of it, the tail flicked, and sent his body soaring through the air and against all odds, crashing through the single candlelit window. 

Thanks to his armor, he hardly felt the window shatter, but he heard it. Sandor awkwardly picked himself up from the pile of broken glass, his armor stiff in all the worst places, making it more difficult than it should have been. Once he was on his feet, he scanned the room, which was minuscule. It contained only large bed with a lavish grey comforter and matching drape canopy, and a bedside table with said candle burning upon it. 

Atop the comforter sat a young maiden in a navy blue velvet gown that hugged her fully developed figure; Long legs it appeared, high, noble cheekbones, prominent teats accentuated by an embroidered direwolf and branches across the upper chest of the dress , a strong neck and an ethereal, pale complexion. Most notable, though, was the single braid hanging over her shoulder and cascading down to her hip, its shade matching the fire he'd seen a few moments ago. She was _stunningly_ beautiful, and peeping at him from beneath her luscious eyelashes. 

"Lady Sansa." he resolved.

She stood and approached him with unexpected enthusiasm. "My Prince! You are much taller and broader than expected! What magnificence the Gods grace upon me this day. The day of our first meeting." she exclaimed, and it was like innocent music to the ears, the kind that plays timelessly and on repeat. Like the chirping of birds from the Summer Isles, he thought. 

He cleared his throat, not having been prepared to make conversation with her in any capacity. "Not your Prince." he corrected gruffly. 

She puzzled for only a moment, before she thought she understood; "Oh!" she chirped again. "A brave knight so bold as to rescue me!" and as if on a rehearsed, pre-programmed cue, "By what name do I call my true knight, Sir?"

He guffawed at the ridiculousness of it all, "I'm no fucking knight, girl. But you've got the idea well enough." He said, kicking her locked chamber door out of the frame, opening their way into a dark, spiraling staircase. 

"Let's go," he said, grabbing her arm and leading her down the winding pit. 

The young woman winced at his vulgar language, but she was not shaken. "But Sir! You are meant to sweep me off my feet, out yonder window and sit me sideways upon your noble steed! Shan't this moment be a dream, a song, worthy of Florian and Jonquil themselves?"

"A fool and his cunt," he laughed, continuing to drag her down the stairs behind him, "Spare me, Lady Stark. I don't know what fantasy world you're living in, but there's no time for it."

In a different way, Sansa Stark was every bit as persistent as her younger sister.

"You must make time to tell me your name, Sir. I insist it by the Old Gods and The New."

"You only need know me as The Hound." he growled, as they reached the bottom of the stair and stepped right into what Sandor assumed had been the main Keep, now roofless with pillars jutting out this way and that. 

Sansa stood before him then, and withdrew a small piece of cloth from her bodice. She held it out to him.

"Sir Hound..I pray that you will accept this favor, as a token of my gratitude." 

He grabbed the handkerchief from her, which consisted of thin white cloth and a grey direwolf sigil embroidered in the corner. "Erhm...thanks." he rasped, wiping his sweaty face with it through the window of the helm. He handed it back to her and she grimaced. Evidently, he had done the improper thing. Not that he gave a damn.

A great roar rumbled the ground, and the darkness ahead was suddenly swallowed by a slightly distant exhale of fire, revealing the beast before them in all its scaly, sharp-toothed glory. Sandor could faintly hear the clanking of his armor on armor, as he subtly trembled at the sight, and more so the heat. In truth, he was more terrified than the wolf pup had jested, more terrified than he'd ever been. 

Sansa screamed, reflexively wrapped her arm around Sandor's armored torso and hid behind his massive figure. "You didn't slay the dragon?!!"

"Any suggestions?" he snapped, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground on which he stood. 

Suddenly, the dragon's neck thrashed to the left, and that was when he noticed the iron chain around its neck and leading to a shadow some yards away, a shadow shaped like a miniature wolf. 

"Arya?!" Sansa exclaimed, and instinctively threw her body in her younger sister's direction, only a slight budge, as Sandor held her back. 

"Stay put." he ordered. 

She complied and he left her somewhat hidden in the stairwell, making to circle behind the dragon as it faced off with the little Stark. 

"Hello errhm...Mister Dragon." Arya made her voice as big as she could, yet with a tone more respectful than any The Hound thought she was capable of. The dragon roared at her without breathing fire, as if to respond in some way. The bitch stood her ground. "I've come to take my sister home." The dragon looked between her and the stairwell a couple of times, putting two and two together. 

_The creature is cunning after all_ , he thought. _But not smart enough_. 

He returned to his prior plan and drove his sword through the end of the dragon's tail. It wailed in pain. Sandor looked at Arya, "Run!", and gestured at Sansa to follow suit. Arya dropped the end of the chain and for once, did as she was told. The two sisters scurried out of the Keep toward the direction they had earlier arrived. Sandor pulled his sword from the tail and ran underneath its body, barely avoiding dragon fire as he dove for the end of the chain. He drove his sword once more, only this time it was to stay, planted through the chain links and into the ground. He picked up a slate of stone, and used it to blocked the dragon's fiery assaults as he sprinted out of the Keep.

He was catching up with the girls with the dragon on his heels. "Ruuuuuuun!!!!" he shouted, and he truly meant it, dropping his makeshift shield in his wake. One last breath of fire followed them to the end of the castle grounds and dissipated just as they dipped over the grassy hill and into the wooded, secluded pond area where they had left their horses to drink. Assured they were safe, The Hound looked back once to see that the dragon was constrained as he planned, roaring and flying around with a fury in the distance. 

"You did it! You rescued me! My true knight, you were so brave!" Sansa gushed with her hands clamped together in delight. 

"Brave?!" a hushed growl rattled in his rib cage.

"Yes, brave and...well, gentle enough." she managed. "And strong."

She moved nearer and beckoned to him,"The battle is won! You may remove your helmet, good Ser...Hound." she giggled. 

"Oh no, I don't think you want that." 

"No, he's got a point." Arya chimed in. Sansa ignored her rude sister. 

"Please, Sir. I wouldst look upon the face of my rescuer."

"Bet you'll quickly change your mind if you do." 

"Nonsense! Sir Hound, you must remove your helmet this instant! As your Lady, I command it!" she feigned a stern tone and it was pitiful.

He snorted, "What is it with you wolf girls thinking you command everyone? I serve House Lannister, you don't command jack shit!"

"Then why did you get sent to rescue me? Did my father not send you?"

"He did. Alongside the King and The Prince. I won a tournament, and this ever glorious damn shit stain of a quest was the reward." 

"You're awful." she said.

"But wait, there's more!" he growled in a half shout that made Sansa flinch away, then startle into backing away from him as he removed his helm, "Ser Hound" replaced by the hideous ruination of his bad side, and the plainness of his less bad side. Had he not rushed after her, frightening her more in the confusion of the moment, she would have taken a backwards tumble straight off a cliff. The fall would not have been enough to kill her, but just enough to break her. His arm caught her around the waist, out of midair and pulled her to him. Their noses were nearly touching, dark eyes imploring eyelids that were scrunched closed. 

"Well? Take a look. This is what you wanted." he said. "Take a good long look at your knight in shining armor."

Her eyelids fluttered open and it was the first moment he noticed the color, her cerulean gaze fixed on his. It pleaded with him to back away, but was stubborn enough not to tear away from him. 

"Can't bear it, can you?" he pressed. 

"Begging your pardon, Sir. You startled me is all." she did not look away. After a long moment, he released his grip on her and walked over to a boulder some feet away, and sat down to pull out his flagon of wine and take a swig.

"Because he's so ugly?!" Arya suggested absently as she practiced her water dancing with some imaginary foe. 

"Arya! That's not courteous, nor ladylike!"

There was a pause, at which time Sandor and Arya looked at one another before both bursting into laughter. 

"And not untrue." Sandor managed, as he wiped some humorous tears away. "Fuck your courtesies. I hate lying more than I hate just about anything else. And that's a lot of things, girl."He said, rising and making toward Stranger. He grabbed the reins and led him to where the Sansa stood. "I'm not what you expected, nor is my 'noble steed', I can promise you that", he mocked. 

"Am I to ride with you?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disdain for the prospect. 

The Hound chuckled, "Aye, Princess. It's your lucky day." 

***


	6. True Knights.

"He's a liar, Sansa. A weak little prat, unworthy of the Stark name!" 

Arya's yapping was primarily directed at her sister now, to Sandor's relief. It was easier to tune it out this way, at least. 

More difficult to ignore was Sansa's chirping in response, insistent that it was her duty and deepest longing to marry the Prince and give him as many sons and daughters as the Gods would bestow upon them. Mounted on Stranger with the future Queen sitting sideways in front of him, her frame between his arms and all but leaning against his chest, he had no choice but to breathe in the scent of her hair; a simple, crisp cleanliness that he supposed only Northern nobility could make, and the subtlest hint of something else...some damned flower? Fuck if he knew, but it was a small blessing as they approached the forestry bordering the God's Eye. They still had a long way to go. 

"And what is _your_ truth on the matter, Sir Hound?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "You serve his family. If it please, I would so appreciate anything you can tell me of my intended." 

Sandor snorted, seizing this opportunity to mock the situation, "Oh, you mean the tallest, most handsome, valiant Prince who ever lived? You're in for a real treat, Princess." he chuckled. 

Arya shot him a glare at first, but was quickly overtaken with laughter of her own at his sarcasm. "I'm almost sure Sansa is at least _as tall_ as Joffrey". 

"It's _Prince_ Joffrey, Arya. The Gods are always listening. Show some respect, you two!" 

"Hah! What fucking Gods?!"

"The ones who made us all." She stated confidently. 

"So you think the Gods made a monster like me, is that it? Why in Seven bloody Hells would they do that?!"

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but-"

"Oh, shove your pardons up your arse, girl!" he felt her flinch in his loose embrace at his vulgar exclamation. With one large, armor clad hand he cupped her chin and willed her face to turn up towards his, her eyes remaining averted to the ground. "Look at me." 

Sansa's eyes darted directly to his and did not waver, though she stirred uncomfortably. 

"Do I look like a knight to you?" he pressed on.

"You _look_ like a burnt piece of toast!" Arya chimed in, urging her pony to gallop slightly ahead of Stranger as to avoid Sandor's reach.

"Arya!" Sansa made to correct her sister again, but Sandor held her chin in place.

"Answer me." he demanded.

"No." Sansa replied, "I mean, no, you don't _look_ like a knight," She admitted. "But you're my rescuer. You're not a monster." she said, unexpectedly placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He dropped his from her chin, drawing his flagon to take a swig of wine before he continued to speak. She withdrew her hand. "Sir Loras looks like a knight. The so-called honor of being your rescuer would have been all his if my brother hadn't tried to kill him. The only reason I'm here is because I stopped him."

"That sounds like something a true knight would do." She dared say.

"Listen, girl." he growled, triggered by her claim. "My brother, Sir Gregor "The Mountain", have you heard of him? He's an anointed knight. And happens to be the biggest monster in all the Seven Kingdoms. His status has dick to do with honor or any of your silly make believe ideals. Strong arms and steel own this world, and all the pretty little knights you dream about are either dying in the process or biting pillows in their spare time. Don't ever believe any different."

"Biting pillows?"

"Some men like to fuck other men, and care little for the affection of a Lady such as yourself outside of furthering their blood lines. But I'd bet your Septa never taught you any songs about that." Why he felt compelled to be so brutally honest with her was beyond him, and he noticed her nose scrunched at this revelation. 

"Does...does Prince Joffrey bite pillows?"

The Hound and Arya guffawed in unison. "Not to my knowle-" "Without a doubt!" Arya interrupted him, but it actually made him laugh all the more.

"Mayhaps you can ask him yourself, when you meet him tomorrow." Sandor said absently, tucking his flagon away again for safe keeping. 

" _Tomorrow_?!" Sansa exclaimed, looking first to her sister for some answer, then to the sun beginning its descent on the horizon, before whipping her head around to face Sandor. "We shan't travel the forest after nightfall. What of bandits and shadowcats?!" 

"Hah! Needn't worry. I'm scarier than anything you'll find in this forest." Sandor dismissed. 

"As much as I hate to agree with my stupid sister, we could make camp just outside the wood. I'm starving. And tired." Arya added.

"And you weren't even invited on this fucking quest." Sandor bit, "We keep going."

"Sir, I-"

"Stop calling me Sir!" he roared.

"Hound, then. I must insist that we rest. Surely you must be famished, too?" Sansa pressed. 

"'Course I am, girl. The next inn is at the other end of the fucking woods." He grumbled, starting to lose his patience.

"No problem! My provisions should do until then." Arya said, fumbling through her nap sack. "I've got a loaf of bread, some cheeses..."

Sandor glared the hardest he had since this misadventure began, "Then why have you been eating all _my_ damned food?!" he hollered. Arya shrugged. He clenched his enraged fists. 

"Oh! And some lemons, courtesy of Littlefucker Baelish!"

"Arya! Such foul language-"

"Why in the dusty fuck would you accept anything from that pervert?!" 

"I took them off a cart outside his brothel." 

"Both of you listen this instant!" The proper Lady made her voice disproportionately big. "I demand that we make camp immediately."

"Demand all you want, bu-" Sandor cut himself off in shock, as Sansa abruptly slid from his horse, holding her skirt accordingly, and planted her feet stubbornly to the ground. 

"I am the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and I am to be your Queen. You will honor my need to rest and sleep in private quarters." She'd mustered this up from where the fuck?! 

"Oh, and where's that?! There's no inn for miles. I've no bloody tent for you, either. " he said, dismounting Stranger, prepared to throw her back onto the saddle against her will.

Sansa scanned the area frantically. "There!" she said, pointing to someplace off behind him. 

He turned around to find a set of giant boulders almost perfectly forming a shelter atop a slight hill. He faced her again, incredulous, with one brow raised as if to question the girl's sanity. She lifted her skirts from the ground and strode past him, up the hill to assess her makeshift "quarters".

"Hardly fit for the future Queen of Westeros.." he mocked, following her up the hill.

"I merely require a door." She said, and he watched wide-eyed as she unfastened her cloak and proceeded to tuck its hood underneath the top boulder, securing it to hang as a curtain over the supposed doorway. "Perfect." She decided. 

At the foot of the hill, Arya had already dismounted her pony and led it to the edge of the God's Eye to drink. His stomach began to gurgle in desperation for food, and suddenly here on the outskirts of the woods, daylight was becoming scarce. When would he stop submitting to the ridiculous whims of these women? _It won't be now_ , he thought, convincing himself it was only because he'd been thinking about the bread and cheese for the past few minutes. He found himself involuntarily leading Stranger back down the hill, tying him up beside the Stark pony, but not too close.

"Sansa, you can have the first lemon to yourself, if you want!" Arya called to her from the patch of grass she now sat in, laying out the small spread of food. 

"As it turns out, I don't have much of an appetite." Sansa said, nervously fixing her braid from the top of the hill. Sandor glared at her in disbelief, sitting down to join the little annoying wolf. "You two enjoy. I bid you both Goodnight!" With that, Sansa swiftly retreated into her boulder cottage, concealed by her hanging cloak. Sandor looked to Arya questioningly as she passed him the other half of the bread loaf. She shrugged, at the same loss for her sister's odd behavior. 

****

She was hungry. It mattered not, though, as the sun had fallen to meet the horizon and as always, her time had run out. Keeping her secret was more important at this moment, more important than ever now that she was so close to breaking the spell. Soon enough, she would stand before her handsome Prince Charming and declare her undying love and devotion, and he would place a Stag's cloak upon her shoulders, promising to protect and honor her. And after one single kiss, she would fear the night no longer.

This night was passing slower than she had hoped, the sounds and scents of the forest calling to the nature of her current state. Try as she might, sleep was not coming easily. She lay awake, listening to her travelling companions bicker at the bottom of the hill...

"Okay, I decided what I want as my half of the reward."

"How many times do I have to fucking tell you, there's no reward?!"

"I want fighting lessons from the mighty Hound!"

"I don't teach."

"Just let me watch you in the yard and I'll follow your motions."

"Are you thick in the head, wolf pup? You're too small to fight like me."

"Bet I'm quicker."

"Bet you'll end up marrying some young Lord in a few years, too busy pushing his noble brats out your twat to do any real fighting, ever."

"The Hells I will! I'd rather die."

"Go on, then. Get it over with, because that's your future." 

"What do you know about anything?!!"

"I know that if you don't shut the fuck up-"

"Oh get over yourself, dog!! I'm not afraid of you, or your ugly face. But I know what you're terrified of.." 

"Nothing."

"I saw you shaking in your boots when that dragon breathed at you. You looked like a scared little girl."

"Shut it."

"I know how it happened, too. Your bedding didn't catch fire, did it?"

"Bitch, I'm warning you!"

"No, it was your older brother. He shoved your face-"

"Into the fucking coals, yes! It's a lovely story that I just love revisiting, you cunt!"

"Maybe if you talk to someone about it-"

"I don't want to fucking talk about it."

"I can't be your friend if you won't let me, you smelly, grouchy fuck!"

At that point, Sansa heard something clatter, followed by an angry roar, then a long moment of silence. Eventually, the Hound spoke.

"He thought I stole his toy knight. I didn't steal it, I was just playing with it. He paid it no mind until he saw someone else enjoying it, he's always been a fucker. It was the last time I remember enjoying anything other than killing, or drinking." Another long pause. It seemed he finally figured out how to keep Arya quiet; By finally talking himself. "The pain was bad. The smell was worse. But the worst part, was that it was my brother who did it." 

"Well, now we're getting somewhere!" Arya said enthusiastically. 

"You really don't get it, do you? I'm not the one with the problem, it's the world that has a problem with me. Thanks to Gregor, people take one look at me and all they see is a big, stupid, ugly mutt. They judge me before they even know me. That's why I'm better off alone."

Sansa could not believe her ears. The conversation had escalated so incredibly quickly and revealed an entirely different perspective to her, shaking her to her softest heart of hearts; This man was once a small child who obviously admired knights to some degree. Perhaps he'd even wanted to be one when he grew up. It was no exaggeration, his brother was a cruel monster capable of unfathomable evil, and his becoming an anointed knight to the royal family must have completely jaded the Hound's perception of what a knight truly is, if the burning itself hadn't done that already.

Sansa felt in this moment an overwhelming understanding of her rescuer's rage and self-isolation, and made a couple of promises to herself right then; Firstly, that she would do everything in her power to see The Hound's brother punished for his heinous crime once she became Queen. And secondly, she would be as kind as possible to this poor, tortured soul who was brave and strong enough to save her when no one else was. 

"When I first saw you, I didn't think you were just a big, stupid, ugly mutt." She heard Arya break the silence. "I thought you were the toughest man I'd ever seen. Turns out you're also an ass, but I wasn't wrong."

Sansa smiled before sleep finally came for her.


End file.
